


A Song for the Grieving Heart

by itsclowreedsfault



Series: Zine Works [9]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, MM Fairytale Zine, fairytale inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsclowreedsfault/pseuds/itsclowreedsfault
Summary: There are countless ways for a story to begin. Some begin with a valiant knight leaving on a journey to save a princess; others, with a curious magical creature or with a spell cast by an evil witch. Some begin with a song, or a wish, or even a kiss.This is not one of those stories. Here's how it begins: with an empire in mourning, tears shining under the moonlight, and a nightingale sitting on a bough.
Relationships: Zen | Ryu Hyun/Main Character
Series: Zine Works [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838605
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	A Song for the Grieving Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written for the MM Fairytale Zine, [Enchanted Hourglass](https://mmfairytalezine.tumblr.com/). It's inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's "The Nightingale".

There are countless ways for a story to begin. Some begin with a valiant knight leaving on a journey to save a princess; others, with a curious magical creature or with a spell cast by an evil witch. Some begin with a song, or a wish, or even a kiss.

This is not one of those stories. Here's how it begins: with an empire in mourning, tears shining under the moonlight, and a nightingale sitting on a bough.

It's the third night after the Emperor's passing of old age, and the palace sleeps after another eventful day with the matters of the court. The servants fall into the deep slumber of those who do nothing but work, the nobles dream of gaining the favor of their next ruler, and the silver bells tied to the flowers in the garden chime lightly under the cold winter breeze. It’s from this garden, perched upon a tree outside the Emperor's room, that the nightingale called Zen watches the Emperor's daughter.

She can't see him from her place behind the wide window. Her lithe frame looks fragile with the way she curls her arms around herself, as if she could hold back the strength of her sobs by making herself small. Her tears haven't ceased since she entered the room. Zen sees them clearly, sliding down porcelain skin and catching the light of the full moon—like a painting, the dark-haired woman is of a beauty that could almost rival Zen's own, yet those tears have Zen's heart aching at the sight of so much grief.

It gets harder to bear with every passing moment. Zen has never enjoyed seeing a lady cry—unless the tears were brought forth by the charm of his singing—and it's the third time he's witnessing the Emperor's daughter do so. The first time, he had come to sing for the Emperor and had been met with the news of his death instead. And what shocking news it had been, when Zen still remembered saving the Emperor from Death's hands once; but a nightingale's song can only defeat the claws of illness, not the natural passage of time.

He mourned alongside the Emperor's daughter that night. Hidden by the foliage, Zen crossed his legs as he craned his neck to stare at the sky in unusual silence, not trusting his voice not to tremble if he let it out. His fingers, however, he couldn't control; they shook lightly as he picked at his feathers in a futile attempt to distract himself. 

Zen knew the world had its rules and a human's life was fleeting, so he hadn't shed tears, but the hollow pain in his chest had been as real as the sobs from the woman behind the window. He hadn't shown himself to her. He remained reluctant to do so to anyone but the Emperor. Still, Zen shared her feelings—she cried for a lost father, and he mourned the loss of a dear friend.

Even now, three nights later, the feelings haven't gone away, and it's their existence that makes Zen unable to continue watching the Emperor's daughter suffer without doing anything. His heart might be torn, but there  _ is _ something he can do without revealing himself.

He can sing.

Zen settles back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. When he starts singing, it's with the afterimage of the Emperor's daughter's face burned behind his eyelids, and the wish to turn her tears into a smile present in his voice. His music has always been enough to calm a human's sorrow and invoke the most beautiful of feelings; Zen knows how to use the gift he's been given, and he doesn't hold back. A mellow and wordless tune echoes in the night.

Zen doesn't turn to watch the reaction of the Emperor's daughter. Instead, he sings like he's never sung before, until his voice is tired and the sky has gone from a deep indigo to shades of orange and the stars are hidden by the light of the sun.

It's only when the first stirrings come from within the palace, signaling the start of a new day, that Zen falls quiet. Despite the tiredness weighing his limbs, he perches himself up on the bough, peeking over the side of the tree with a rustling of feathers.

The Emperor's daughter lies on the bed, still fully dressed. Her knees are pulled up to her chest with her skirts bunching up around her in a flurry of fabric. Her hands are tucked close to her heart, and her breathing is slow in the way of those who have fallen into the deepest of sleeps. But it is her face—marred with dry tear tracks, yet still uncannily beautiful—that truly makes Zen's heart skip a beat. 

Though there's a lingering trace of sadness, her features are more relaxed than Zen has seen them in days, and her lips are slightly turned up in a smile.

* * *

What happened that night repeats itself again and again, until it becomes routine.

Zen has always been proud of his singing, but it strikes him harder than ever every time the Emperor's daughter falls asleep to his voice and he catches that smile on her face. She still cries, and Zen still hurts along with her, but something about the dynamic they've established fills Zen with a sense of calmness. Like the sound of bells that resonates loudly at first and then fades into something softer, his own feelings become less tormented with each passing moment.

For the first time in years, Zen starts considering the possibility of revealing his presence to a human. He hasn't forgotten the way the empire treated him. He hasn't forgotten being banished in exchange for a fabricated nightingale, being disdained over a mechanical bird covered in jewels. But just like how he returned to the Emperor and trusted him—and him alone—to recognize the value in his singing again, Zen wants the Emperor's daughter to recognize him as well.

And a few nights later, the opportunity presents itself.

"I know you're out there, the one who sings to me every night. Why don't you show yourself to me?"

Zen stops singing as the Emperor's daughter's voice reaches his ears. She must’ve opened the window; her voice is clear even though she’s speaking low enough that anyone still awake in the palace won’t be able to hear her. Zen’s heart races at her words and the request behind them.

“Please. Can’t I know who you are so I can thank you?”

It’s the kindness in her tone that settles Zen's decision. He sits up with a deep sigh, bracing himself before jumping away from the tree in a swift movement, landing at the windowsill in front of the Emperor’s daughter. This close, she’s even more breathtaking—surprised doe eyes fixed on him, lips that look slightly chapped under the moonlight painted a rosy pink in contrast to her pale skin. 

“Hello,” Zen says. He bows his head lightly, hoping a sweet smile can hide how apprehensive he is of her reaction.

The Emperor’s daughter is silent for a few moments. Her gaze traces Zen’s face, lingering on the feathers framing his eyes, down to the ones on the back of his hands peeking out of his long sleeves. “You’re beautiful,” she blurts out, and the loveliest blush spreads across her cheeks immediately after.

Zen’s nerves give way to a pleasant warmth. “I’m aware,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“I’m MC.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady.” Zen chuckles as MC’s blush darkens. “I’m Zen.”

“Zen,” she repeats, as if testing how it sounds. “I’ve heard stories about a nightingale that used to sing to my father…a long time ago. Dad used to say his singing was more beautiful than anything he’d ever heard before.”

Zen’s smile wavers and a strangled sound leaves his throat before he can stop it. The Emperor’s joyful expression after hearing one of his songs flashes across his mind.

MC reaches out towards Zen’s face. He holds his breath, but she seems to change her mind at the last second, only brushing his feathers with her fingertips before letting her hand fall. “You’re the nightingale, aren’t you, Zen?”

“Yes.” Zen’s answer is barely above a whisper. “That’s me.”

“Dad was right. Your singing truly is beautiful,” MC says. She smiles a watery smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “He spoke very fondly of you.”

“He was…a good friend.” Zen hates how vulnerable he sounds. He believed he had his feelings under control, but the way MC talks about the Emperor, with the echoes of grief still present in her every word, tears open wounds that run deeper than he’d thought.

“You miss him too, don’t you?”

Zen nods. All these nights he had sung to ease MC’s pain, but there was no denying that his own had always been there, concealed behind every tune like the moon hiding behind the clouds.

“I think you know this, but your singing has been helping me deal with it. With—the grief, and accepting that he’s really—that he’s gone.” MC exhales a shaky breath before taking Zen’s hands in her own, looking at him with eyes that are both sad and understanding. “I’d like to help you too. Will you let me?” 

During his whole life, Zen had used his singing to help others. There was nothing more satisfying than hearing praises from people who were pleased by his singing, or watching his songs bring tears of emotion to the eyes of even the most cold-hearted of humans. Zen had soothed the fears of people lost in the forest, had saved the Emperor’s life from Death with his voice.

Never before had someone offered to help  _ him  _ instead.

Zen turns his head to the side, blinking away the unexpected tears before MC sees them. The sky outside is a dark shade of blue, and as he watches, the clouds slip away to reveal the full moon, letting it once again cast its light over them both. A cold breeze makes the silver bells tied to the flowers in the garden chime lightly, and the palace around them remains asleep.

There are several ways for a story to end. Some end with a kiss, or a wedding, or a broken curse; others, with a princess being rescued by a valiant knight, or with a happily ever after that’s been told too many times to count.

This is not one of those stories. Here’s how it ends: with a nightingale perched on a windowsill holding the hands of an Emperor’s daughter, and two souls that have gone through the same loss finding out that it’s easier to bear the pain when it’s shared with each other.

It ends with a single word.

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://itsclowreedsfault.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/chuuyanodazai)


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